by Abigail Owen
Satisfaction thrummed through Brock, and he held onto a smug smile with effort, remaining serious. “Yes and no, my lord.”
Pytheios’s eyes lit red with flames, eerie in the sunken sockets of his eyes, and he stared back, saying nothing.
“Explain,” a voice barked, and another face thrust forward in the view.
A young face, the man tall and broad with dark hair and the strange reddish-brown eyes of his kind. Brock could see little else, except the top of what he knew to be an expensive, custom-made suit. Obviously Merikh.
“My son asked you a question,” Pytheios said quietly. “Explain.”
The fact that Pytheios had a son had been a surprise when they’d come to the mountain, but not one that bothered him any. Like Brock, the Rotting King of the Red Clan must’ve taken a woman showing dragon sign and used her body for an heir. Except he’d obviously turned that heir into a pampered brat, scratching for scraps of respect at daddy’s heels.
“One of our spies contacted me, detailing their plan.” Brock studiously avoided looking at his unmarked hand.
Pytheios shook his head. “That feels too easy.”
A rhythmic clicking sound that Brock had assumed to be static suddenly ceased and a man stepped forward into view. Tall and lanky, he had the appearance of a much younger, less decrepit Pytheios. Only a vague similarity to his brother told Brock who this was.
As far as Brock knew, very few people were privileged enough to see Pytheios’s brother, Nathair, in person. The man, though described as idiosyncratic by rumor, certainly fit the image Brock had in his head. Rumor also held that Nathair was beyond brilliant.
Nathair did not face the screen or address Brock in any way. Instead he whispered in his brother’s ear, and Pytheios slowly smiled. Even Brock couldn’t hold off the shiver of dread skating over his nerves.
“What is the plan your spy unveiled?” Pytheios asked.
Brock pulled his shoulders back, aware of an undercurrent of doubt from the red king. “They plan to hold their army where they are hiding, and Brand will come here with his mate to try to convince the people to follow him.”
Pytheios’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he risk that?”
“Something about avoiding bloodshed.” Stupidity. Astarot would never take this throne without sacrifices. “My forces are depleted after the battle for Ben Nevis, and he holds many more of my warriors in the blue traitor king’s dungeons.”
“He has to know you have an alliance with the Green Clan.”
Brock clasped his hands behind his back. “He’s under the impression that, after losing Ben Nevis, King Fraener pulled his support and returned to China.”
“And he doesn’t know about Volos and the White Clan?”
“Not as far as we know.” Brock allowed himself that smug smile now. “However, he has pulled most of Ladon Ormarr’s warriors away from the mountain to bring them here in case his bid for a peaceful takeover fails.”
Pytheios steepled his fingers, milky red gaze going distant. “They’ll be waiting for the attack. If you can’t find them, it means they are holed up somewhere. They’ve had days to prepare.”
“Which is why we won’t attack those forces.” Brock didn’t wait for Pytheios to react. “Instead, we will skirt them and go to Ben Nevis, which they’ve left vulnerable, and secure the rest of my warriors.”
“They will attack at that point.”
“But they’ll be too far behind. When they get there, we’ll be gone, back here to our mountain. Hopefully, Astarot will be arrogant enough to stay. We’ll take that false king and his mate and destroy them.”
Pytheios pinned Brock with a look of command that he felt even through the screen and thousands of miles between them. “You’ll bring them to me.”
Brock frowned. “She is useless to you. Her neck bears his brand. We know the rumors of her being a phoenix are lies, which makes her, at most, a human who successfully mated, or, even less important, a female-born dragon shifter.”
“Nevertheless.”
An undoubted order. But also an opportunity to get close to the High King and take him off the chessboard, permanently. “As you wish, but…” Brock paused.
“Yes?” Pytheios demanded, impatience making the word cut off.
“I’ve heard rumor of another phoenix, my King.”
“Ormarr is—”
“This one is in the colonies. With a band of rogues, from what I understand.”
Pytheios stilled, eyes narrowed, except Brock got an odd impression that he’d been expecting this. “A third? What are the odds?”
Had Pytheios not known? Or was he being played? “With your permission, after this is over, I will go myself and bring her back.”
“No,” Pytheios said. “I’ll go.”
…
“If you look at your mate one more time,” Asher grumbled, “I’m going to have to assume she’s got you brainwashed, which makes her a goddamn witch.”
Ladon slowly returned his gaze to his guard to pin his Beta with a hard glare for his words about Skylar. “Is that how you address your king?”
Not that his Beta was wrong. Keeping an eye on Skylar as she said goodbye to Kasia shouldn’t take much, if any, of his focus. In minutes, Brand, Kasia, and a small contingency of hand-selected guards would travel to the gold mountain of Store Skagastølstind. Alone.
As far as their spies could tell, the Gold Clan had remained quiet, which hopefully meant their ploy had worked. Had Brock taken the bait?
Skylar and Kasia stood now, quiet, foreheads pressed together in that way they had. The closest to fear he’d seen his mate show reflected in the way she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Seriously, Ash. You trying to get your ass handed to you?” Reid half muttered at Asher.
“You don’t mess with mates, brother,” Duncan added. “Am I right?” He looked to Wyot, who gave his usual noncommittal grunt.
Asher ignored them all. “Your warriors can see you. So can King Gorgon and his people.”
“And?” Ladon asked, deadly quiet.
“And you look like a puppy dog, scrambling at her feet. I’m saying she could be a liability.” Asher set his stance, staring Ladon down in a way that he usually respected. The fact that Asher wasn’t cowed by his position or his reputation was exactly why Ladon had made the man his Beta.
This, however, was not one of the moments that made him appreciate that. “Your concern is noted.”
Asher got the hint. Ladon was done with this conversation.
“You need to focus on your own ass right now,” Ladon pointed out. “I don’t have time to get a new Beta if this goes tits up.”
Asher lifted a single eyebrow. “You definitely can’t pick from your guard. That lot is useless.”
“I resemble that remark,” Reid joked before frowning at something over Ladon’s shoulder.
Ladon glanced behind him to find Arden standing there, dressed not in her usual flashy active wear, but in a crisp black pantsuit and towering stilettos in the same blue-green as her eyes.
“What are you all dressed up for?” Reid demanded from behind him before Ladon could ask. The man slipped his butterfly knife into his boot where he hid it.
“I’m going with Kasia,” Arden said.
Immediate rejection slammed through Ladon at her words. He wouldn’t put Arden in that kind of peril.
“The fuck you are,” Reid snapped, beating him to it. The captain of his guard stepped forward, suddenly all bristling, pissed shifter.
Arden narrowed her eyes but otherwise ignored Reid, facing Ladon instead. “I know Reid is going as a show of your support, and Samael is going as the representative for Gorgon.”
The two captains of their king’s guard going in the place of Ladon and Gorgon had been Brand’s choice. He wanted there to be no doubt
as to which king was coming for that throne.
A glance at Reid showed a man almost vibrating with the violence of his emotions, and Ladon hid a frown. Was there something there he hadn’t realized before?
His sister tipped up her chin. “I would like to go as well.”
Reid snarled, echoing Ladon’s dragon, though he held in his own. “Why?”
“Our clan has a bigger stake in this, in Brand, than the Black Clan does. Especially with Kasia and Skylar in the mix. Having both your captain and your sister there will demonstrate that.”
She had a point. One he hated to acknowledge.
“Plus, women need a voice in this world, and I’m going to be it this time around.”
Ladon blinked at her words. “You don’t think I give you a voice?”
Arden snorted. “You don’t get to give me anything when it comes to having a voice. Either I have one or I don’t. I plan to have one. A large percentage of your people aren’t being represented, so I will be that for them.”
Had he been guilty of ignoring the female portion of his clan? So few dragons were born female, and dragon mates were all human to start, not born into this world. Those circumstances naturally led to a male-driven society.
“Kasia is a woman,” he pointed out.
“Kasia is a phoenix,” Arden came back. If they would have been alone, he’d bet she’d give him one of her pats—the ones he thought of as “poor, oblivious male” pats.
He hated those damn pats.
Still, his sister had made good points. “Granted.”
Reid jerked forward. “No. You can’t—”
“It’s done,” Ladon said quietly.
His sister’s smile alone told him he’d done the right thing, not that it made the concern for her churning in his gut like curdled milk any easier to stomach.
With a triumphant grin directed at Reid, she sashayed over to where Samael and Brand stood, waiting for Kasia and Skylar to say their goodbyes. Except Reid stalked after her, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her into another smaller cavern.
Good. Maybe Reid could convince her to stay.
Ladon joined his mate, who stepped back from her sister. He struggled to keep his hands to himself, instinct tugging at him to wrap her up. Maybe Asher was right and he needed to present a different image when they were in public together.
Instead, he reached out to Brand to shake, pulling the man who’d been more like a brother to him over the years in to slap his back. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Brand’s grin had a dark edge to it. “We’re going to have a little talk with my clan’s leaders. That’s all. You’re the one on the line here.”
Enough to get either or both of them killed. “Stay safe…brother.”
Brand sobered, gold eyes turning almost amber, glittering with his inner fire. “You, too.”
Arden stepped up to the group, a thunderous Reid following behind. Apparently, an unsuccessful Reid, but then, Arden had always had a mind of her own.
“Ready?” Skylar asked. She would send them to a spot Brand remembered from his youth. A place they could hide before confronting Brock’s Curia Regis early tomorrow.
The small band grouped together, hands on shoulders or grasping one another’s wrists.
“Keep each other safe,” Skylar said, mostly to Kasia, but Ladon could tell her message was to Brand and Arden, as well.
Based on the way Brand’s head snapped back, he could tell, too. After a second, the big shifter gave a sharp nod.
Skylar held out her hands and flames—were they more blue today?—flowed up her arms and over her body like a rising tide. “On three,” she said.
“Wait,” Reid said.
Before anyone could react, he stepped in to Arden, practically pushing Samael out of the way, and took her face in his hands, claiming her lips in a hard, fast kiss. “That’s why the fuck not,” he snapped, then faced forward, ready to go, leaving Arden visibly dazed.
Skylar glanced at Ladon with huge eyes, but he just shrugged. Fuck if he was going to get in the middle of whatever that was. Reid could damn well come to him. Arden too, for that matter.
“Ok-ay… Let’s try this again.” Skylar faced her sister, her palms up. “Three… Two… One.”
With a hard shove, the group soundlessly disappeared from sight. Not even a breeze stirred from their departure, as though they’d never been standing before him in the first place.
With a sharp look at Skylar, Asher stalked away. Duncan and Wyot had already taken themselves off to be with the men, in the event that Kasia returned with bad news.
“Now we wait—” Ladon turned to face his mate and froze at the sight that greeted him.
One of his warriors, one of the many men who’d supported his rebellion and his reign, had Skylar wrapped in a chokehold, a knife at her throat.
Based on her expression—blue eyes flared, her skin tight over those high cheekbones, mouth a white slash—Skylar was about as pissed as he’d ever seen her.
“You don’t want to do this.” Ladon kept his voice low and even, his word aimed at his impetuous mate as much as the man threatening her.
The blade in the man’s hand glinted wickedly in the dim light of the torches inside these caves. A dangerously sharp blade—a trickle of blood already snaked down the side of Skylar’s throat.
“If I kill her now, you won’t die,” the man said. “She doesn’t bear your mark yet; the mating hasn’t solidified. You’ll be safe.”
No. Ladon’s dragon raged to roaring life inside him. Even the idea of losing her now had every part of him screaming. “She’s important to my cause.”
The warrior pulled his lips back in a sneer. “She’s not really a phoenix. We’ve all heard the rumors. She’s not a real phoenix. If she was, we wouldn’t be here risking our lives. You’d be High King. You’ve been played falsely. The real phoenix is in the colonies.”
Old information and the power of rumors. Or was more being said than Ladon knew of?
Skylar rolled her eyes. Of course the woman wouldn’t have a normal reaction of fear.
Ladon locked his gaze on the man’s eyes, trying to get through to him. “She’s important to me.”
Skylar’s lashes flickered at that. An emotion that might have been regret pinched her lips and darkened her eyes.
“Shut up.” The blade dug deeper, more blood oozing from the cut.
Any emotion in her eyes died, and she held both her hands where the man couldn’t see, and red fire edged in sparkling blue washed over her palms. Any second, she’d start glowing.
Ladon gave an imperceptible nod that he understood what she was about to do but kept talking as a distraction. “You know I’ll kill you if you harm my mate.”
“You mated her to help our clan. Where the hell is that help? You’ve been too blinded by lust to see her lies.”
More of Skylar’s fire spread over her, though, somehow, she was keeping it from any part that might show to the man holding her so tightly. He’d notice the added light in the room any minute, though.
“She’s the mate I choose,” Ladon said. “As your king, I command you to respect my decision. Release her. I won’t warn you again.”
“If I die, I die for the cause. For your cause. Even if you’ve lost sight of it.”
Damn. Ladon couldn’t afford to spare a man, but he had no choice now.
Shoulders dropping, he centered his will. “Now,” he said to Skylar.
With an impressive move that held her neck still, she shoved her hands behind her, and his warrior disappeared, the knife clattering to the ground at her feet. In an instant, the soldier reappeared directly in front of Ladon, blinking to find himself no longer holding his quarry.
At the same time, Ladon partially shifted, turning his hand into a deadly claw of talons. He slammed his hand t
hrough the man’s ribcage and yanked out his heart, which continued to beat in his grasp for a few more thuds. The warm stickiness of blood dribbled down his hand, which he shifted back to human form. The body of his warrior dropped to the ground with a thump, blood pooling beneath him from the gaping wound in his chest cavity.
Ladon dropped the heart he still grasped, stepped over the dead man, and yanked Skylar into his arms.
“Gross,” she protested. However, rather than pull away, she snuggled into his embrace. Just for a second, but still, something in his chest clenched at that small act.
He buried his face in her hair. “Dammit, woman. I could’ve lost you.”
“Nah,” she dismissed lightly. “You arrogant male dragons are always underestimating what others can do—women, wolf shifters, phoenixes. It doesn’t matter. Your pride is your weakness.”
Only Ladon was starting to suspect that Skylar was wrong. Asher, and now this warrior willing to give his life, had both said the same thing. For different reasons, Ladon had already wrestled with similar thoughts.
This phoenix, who was his mate, his queen, was quickly becoming his greatest weakness.
And he didn’t give a fuck. Not so long as she was his.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I hate waiting,” Skylar muttered into her pillow.
She lay on the lumpy, thin mattress that didn’t seem to protect them from the uneven floor. Without the system of lighting like the one in Ben Nevis that allowed her to know when the sun had come up, she had no clue what time it was. Early morning, at best guess.
“Me too.”
She jumped a bit at the rumbled answer behind her, then turned to look over her shoulder at her mate. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I don’t sleep much these days.”
So that hadn’t just been about getting ready for this attack? “You’ll wear yourself into an early grave if you keep up that pace.”
Ladon reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair, which she’d left loose last night, around his finger. “Now that I have a mate, I’m guaranteed more years. I’ll be fine.”
“There are no guarantees in this life, Tarzan. My mother and father didn’t even get months. Their bond never solidified before Pytheios killed my father. Maybe ours won’t, either.”
